


Has to be Short

by Asterrious



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Mild Gore, My Junkrat is always trans, Something from the early days of their partnership, Trans Junkrat, Violence, description of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asterrious/pseuds/Asterrious
Summary: They don't know how to be around each other yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by anon on my tumblr. Not entirely happy with how this turned out, but I can't stare at it anymore so.
> 
> Pre-relationship, pre-surgery for Rat.

He was first alerted to the panic attack by the sound of his boss’s breathing. Labored and heavy, like he’d just run a mile, like he was still running from some great terror of an enemy instead of perched on Roadhog’s shoulder like a parrot. Coming this close to Junkertown had been a mistake, but all their attackers were dead now. Bodies were scattered around them like grotesque pieces of art, blow apart by grenades or ripped to pieces by shrapnel and a meat hook.

As far as battles went, it hadn’t been a bad one. Rat had shimmied up his shoulder at the first sign of peril, peg leg digging into unprotected skin and flesh hand wrapped tightly around Hog’s hair for balance. He’d been too preoccupied to throw the smaller junker off, busy guarding his bike from some very determined, very misguided, idiots. The whole thing was over too quickly for Roadhog’s liking really, but he couldn’t muse on that long when he felt the tremors in the hand hooked around his head. Heard Rat gasp for breath like he’d been sucker punched in the gut. 

Grenades began to fly from the skinny junker’s weapon once more and Hog wheeled around with his hook raised, alarmed, worried that meant there were more on the way. Instead he was treated to an empty field, littered with human remains, and the sight of more and more bombs rolling across the ground. Rat had been watching their back during the fight, and Hog realized that his turn made it so his boss was now firing in the direction of the bike. 

A huge, meaty hand reached up to pluck at Junkrat’s harness and pull him sideways off his shoulder. Grunting in annoyance, he pulled the launcher out of the other’s hands before he could shoot him, noting the wide-eyed, terrified stare Rat was giving him. Something was definitely wrong, more so than usual. No one could say that Junkrat was the most stable guy on the planet, but the way he began to scrabble for his grenade launcher while still held aloft was almost pitiful. 

Rat keened in the back of his throat, like a child separated from his favorite toy, and Hog dropped him unceremoniously in the dirt. Like hell he was getting his explosives back while whatever this was happened. The skinny fuck was lucky none of his bombs had damaged the bike, or Roadhog would have marched into the middle of the town and left him there, treasure or no treasure. 

But he wasn’t sure what to do here, if he wasn’t going to do that. Rat was twitching more than usual, swinging his head from side to side like he was waiting for something to attack him at any moment. One hand was still extended for the grenade launcher Roadhog was keeping well out of reach, and the other twisted in his own blonde hair, tugging at the strands. 

“Junkrat?” Hog muttered, and orange eyes snapped to him quickly, giving all the semblance of attention without anything behind it. It was easy to tell that Rat was looking through him, staring at something in the far-off distance that made his shoulders twitch and his lungs rattle.

There was no blood on his boss that he could see, so the kid wasn’t injured. The bandages wrapped around his chest to hold his breasts in place were covered in their usual layer of dirt, plus some blood from the bodies he’d landed on, but none of it was Junkrat’s.

This wasn’t his fucking job to deal with. Whatever issues Junkrat had going on in his head were his to deal with. Roadhog just had to keep him alive. 

Making up his mind, he shrugged to himself and turned towards his bike to begin re-securing their supplies. They’d have to get out of here quickly; the sound of a firefight had no doubt driven many of the residents around into their homes, but they’d be sneaking out soon enough to see what happened. Better to be long gone before anyone could link the potholes to Junkrat’s sandy blonde head. He didn’t fancy having to fight off a caravan of junkers who came looking for the treasure anytime soon. 

Leaving the other junker behind, Roadhog stowed his scrap gun back in it’s holster and reset the chain hook on his belt, inspecting their supply bags for any new rips or tears. Didn’t want to leave a trail of dried jerky behind them as they sped away.

Something creaked behind him, and he assumed it was just Rat finally pulling himself together enough to get off the ground.

In the next second, there was a weight hanging off his back, and a metal hand flailing wildly to reach the grenade launcher in Roadhog’s hand.

Junkrat was giggling continuously as he scratched and kicked at Hog, a nervous, breathy sound that spoke of hysteria. Grunting with surprise, Roadhog reared back from his back and shook like a dog, trying to send the other junker flying. He was rewarded with the feeling of nails digging deep into his skin as Rat frantically hung on.

“Give it back, give it back, I need it, I need it,” He screeched into Hog’s ear, shaking like a leaf even as he bit and scratched at every inch of exposed skin he could find. “They’re gonna get me, they’re after me, I gotta have it, give it!” 

The metal hand smashed into the side of Roadhog’s mask, driving the rubber and seams into the side of the larger man’s face. He blinked furiously at the sudden abundance of stars in his vision, trying to figure out exactly what had made the little fuck lose his shit. All of the people attacking them were dead, and it wasn’t like his launcher was broken or lost. 

“Get the fuck off me,” Hog growled, and was rewarded with sharp teeth biting into his shoulder. Rat ignored the tang of blood and sweat, chomping as hard as he could, desperately clawing his way down the other’s arm to get to the launcher. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, drowning out almost every sound except for his thoughts. They squirmed and massed in his brain, a writhing beast that blocked out everything except the need to protect himself. The need to make the area safe, to keep the people chasing him from catching up. He’d made it this long, he wasn’t going to die, he was not…

Grabbing at the back of the skinny junker’s harness with his free hand, Hog again lifted him into the air and tossed him down to the ground. The breath whooshed out of Rat’s lungs with an audible noise and orange eyes bulged as he gasped, lungs desperately trying to refill themselves. Roadhog wasted no time and tossed the grenade launcher to the side, leaning down to wrap one huge hand around his boss’s throat. 

Once again he was lifted, but this time fingers pressed into the fragile skin around his neck. It would be so easy to snap the bones underneath his hand and be done with the whole endeavor. Certainly he’d killed men for less than jumping on his back before. He didn’t have time to add babysitting to his list of jobs, especially if the kid was going to freak out after every firefight. Roadhog had no experience dealing with panic attacks, let alone the patience for doing so.

“Get ahold of yourself.” He hissed, bringing Junkrat in close so that he could see Hog’s eyes behind the lenses of his mask. The edges of the kid’s lips were beginning to turn blue and his hands pushed at the one around his throat, trying to force room to breathe. 

After a moment, Roadhog dropped him to the ground once again and Rat went sprawling in the dirt, coughing as though he’d never taken a breath before. The faraway look had left his eyes, Hog noted with mild satisfaction- instead of staring through him, Junkrat looked like he’d have liked to jump up and punch him across the face. The two squared off for a moment, Roadhog as still as a statue, his boss watching him from the dirt. As Rat regained the ability to breathe, the hyperventilation subsided.

The skinny junker was the first one to break eye contact, turning his head to the side to spit a mouthful of blood and phlegm into the dirt. Hog watched him for a moment longer before lumbering back to his bike, picking up sorting through their stuff as though he’d never stopped. Next place they were going to was a scrapyard, to build a sidecar big enough to hold Rat’s gangly body and all his stuff. 

Rifling through the other’s duffel, Roadhog came up with a grey canteen and he tossed it over his shoulder to land at Junkrat’s feet. 

“Go fuck yerself,” The man muttered but leaned forward to grab it anyway, sipping at the water as he watched the massive junker re-secure supplies to the bike. There were sluggishly bleeding welts down Hog’s back, remnants of Junkrat’s fingernails and teeth, and he giggled quietly to himself when he saw them. It looked like they’d stopped for a quick fuck in the middle of the battlefield, with all the bite marks and scratches Roadie was sporting. 

A huge hand waved him over and Junkrat hauled himself off the ground, wincing as the movement strained sore muscles. His neck was going to be black and blue for a week, maybe two. Hobbling over to grab his launcher, he slotted it into its holster on his bag and stuck his tongue out at the bigger man. On the outside, he tried to play off the episode as though nothing had happened, but inside he was screaming.

Those episodes had happened before, always after something stressful or particularly trying- but never in front of another person. At least, never in front of another still-breathing person. It made him feel vulnerable in a way that he’d never felt before, like he’d accidentally allowed the bodyguard a window into his head that should have remained shut. It was a damn miracle Roadhog hadn’t smashed his head open like a grape and gone out for a beer with the money in Rat’s pockets. He felt jittery approaching the bike, even though Hog looked like he was impatiently waiting for the other to sit down so they could go. 

“Fine way to treat yer boss, mate…” He mumbled, taking his place behind Hog on the bike. Behind the lenses on the mask, Rat could practically see the other roll his eyes. His mechanical hand looped around one of the other’s overalls, but otherwise he made every effort not to touch the bigger man, afraid of setting him off again. The chatter in his head was beginning to pick up again, telling him that this wasn’t safe- being this close to Roadhog wasn’t right, he’d turn around and rip his head off any moment, _gotta go for that gun, his bombs, they were the only thing reliable, **what was he doing, what are you doing…**_

The bike kicked into motion, startling Rat out of the repetitive, destructive cycle. There was suddenly wind in his face and sand between his teeth, and the blonde was forced to draw closer to Roadhog, huddling behind his massive body for protection as they built up speed.

He wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. Too worried that Hog was just biding his time, and would stomp down on his head in the middle of the night. Staying with someone for so long was messing with his head more than usual, Rat decided as they drove. It was making him paranoid instead of helping him calm down, thoughts telling him that at any moment Roadhog would turn on him and gut him like a pig.

Heh.

This was going to have to be a temporary partnership, for the sake of both of their minds.


End file.
